


the unmentionable

by tootsonnewts



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, eldritch au, eldritch!otabek, he gets one of those things, he just wants to go home with his other half, i promise this is a romantic comedy, otabek is a nightmare man on a mission, otayuri big bang 2018, please won’t someone let this poor man rest his weary tentacles, sparks to strangers to soulmates to eldritch god and several assorted visions to astral lovers, student!yuri, yuri is out here in these streets shooting for straight a’s and a night without insane dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 02:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: O’tabekkurrhHe of the undying sightOne of darkness and many eyesHis reach unending and gaping mawStruck dumb by flaxen hairAnd bony kneesOtabek is a stranded eldritch god who must find his soul’s missing piece before he can return to his home plane. Easy enough.





	1. eldritch gods make do

**Author's Note:**

> here i am, screaming my way back into the fandom with this (literal) monster!  
> i had so much fun writing for this bang, and i really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> thank you so very much to [elliott](http://badaltin.tumblr.com/) for providing the incredible art for this story, as well as some very much needed cheerleading as i fought with this story at times! it was a joy to work with you and i'm so glad we were paired!

O’tabekkurrh has been wandering the planes for some time now. That sounds dramatic. What this really means is that O’tabekkurrh has been alive and consuming for very nearly three hundred years. He is barely an adult by eldritch standards. The entirety of his tentacles have still yet to drop. This is something that the other gods love to remind him of. Often. And loudly.

He is very consistently reminded of several assorted details about himself.

First: He is small for his species. Granted, there truly is no such thing as a _small_ eldritch god, and O’tabekkurrh is roughly as horrific as they come. His granting names him as such. And yet, he remains something of a runt in his family. But what he lacks in size, he more than makes up for in productivity. His prowess in consumption is second to none, and he wields his current tentacles with effortless grace. He would very much like to see that bastard As’zhul consume souls at the same rate, what with his gigantic pincers always getting in the way.

Second: He is currently the youngest in his family. The Empress is with child again, a younger sibling to be born unto them at a moment of her choosing, but it is well known that she prefers to take her time with gestation. O’tabekkurrh’s own ripening took well over seventy years, and even then, the Empress felt he had been released too soon. Still, O’tabekkurrh cannot help but feel his hackles rise each time an elder god reminds him of his youth. He hopes the Empress does not choose a long gestation for her latest child.

Third: He has yet to locate his spark, or even receive his first warming. His elders take great joy in reminding him that they each had felt their own, located their spark, and produced multiple offspring long before they had ever reached their third century. It takes great effort for O’tabekkurrh to remind himself that, by all standards, he is still extremely young. For a species that tends to live for multiple millenia, he still has plenty of time. He is still but a babe, all things considered.

Sparks remain something of a mystery to him. Although he’s had centuries to unravel the meaning of such an assignment, he still finds himself stumped. It seems odd to him that any sort of god should be fated to search for their missing piece until their soul can be satisfied and return from whence it came. What he knows for certain, however, is that one particular human is, always has been, and will forever be his fate. He feels this simple fact deep in his soul. Well, deep in the place where his soul might reside. That exact location is up for debate, but O’tabekkurrh is hard-pressed to discern who, exactly, might debate the coordinates.

O’tabekkurrh is not a proud sort of eldritch god. He knows his place among the fabric of time. He has risen, wandered, and will pass just as any other creature is destined to do. Still, the instinct for resentment is strong within him when he considers the emptiness that has thus far haunted his path as he waits for the day he receives his warming. He has not suffered more than any other creature in existence. In fact, he has lived a fortunate life, all things considered. Still, each time a new decade passes him by, he cannot help but feel the fatigue of another flash of life lived without true satisfaction. He reaps, he haunts, he claims, and yet he is never complete. It is a tiring way to exist, if he were to be totally honest.

His first vision of his intended spark was passed to him in the womb, as is so often the case. As he floated in his mother Empress’s birthing sac, warm and content, developing tentacles wrapping his tiny body in a cocoon of suckers and amniotic fluid, he saw clearly the image of the man who would one day carry him home. The Empress is a mysterious creature. While she may choose to send all of her children a vision of their future, she is quick to deny them of any details. Otabek was gifted the visage, but nothing more than that. The Empress may give, but she is fickle with her assistance. As with all of her offspring, the Empress doomed him upon his warming to search the worlds until he found his missing piece, his spark. Only then could he return to his home plane and claim a land with his soul’s true match at his side.

Over the years of his youth, O’tabekkurrh was given flashes, brief glimpses into the world of his destined one. Right alongside the fulfillment of his unheavenly duties sat the dedication to a single person. A wiry human boy, full of fire and grit, studious and stern with a hint of mischief. A beautiful man, all glossy gold locks and sharp elbows. An athlete of some sort, perhaps. He had sussed that out from a vision of the boy flinging himself around in intricate patterns of some variety. Human hobbies were strange to O’tabekkurrh, so he chose not to waste too much time on the details. Something about balls of multiple varieties appeals to them greatly, he noted. He understands in a way. Throwing skulls is a common schoolyard game amongst the young of their world.

The important part, the vital part — the part that determines O’tabekkurrh’s ultimate fate — is the warming. The warming comes when a god nears puberty. It is the Empress’ signal to them that they should be turned away from all that they know until they fulfill their mission. They shall be locked out of their home plane, the only key permitting re-entry being that of the soul of their spark settled at their side.

Once the warming takes root, time runs short. Each god is granted a mere year to claim their spark. Should they fail, they are doomed to wander whatever plane they land upon until they eventually fade from existence, never to be seen or thought of again. It is a miserable way to die.

O’tabekkurrh does not wish to die this way.

The warming comes early one morning as O’tabekkurrh tends to his garden of Turvinian budslips. It bursts forth in his chest, right between his three hearts, and spreads out along his tentacles and fangs. The connection to his spark calls to him from somewhere beyond his plane, and that is when he knows for certain that he must go. The stretch of the calling pulls him away from his world and toward that of the Terran.

And so, on the eve of his three-hundredth birthing anniversary, O’tabekkurrh sets out to find his fate.

 

+++

 

The first stop O’tabekkurrh decides to make is in the service of a singular purpose: finding an identity that will not give him away to mortals.

Although his spark will eventually learn of his true nature, it would be most unwise to reveal himself to an entire host of humans. From what he understands, they are unpredictable and their ire is easily drawn. He must not reveal himself or his kind to more than is absolutely necessary.

This proves most difficult for him, so tied to his identity as he is. _O’tabekkurrh_ , _he of the undying sight._  Much like every other eldritch entity, O’tabekkurrh is named for his physical appearance. _He of many eyes, born in the darkness. He of unending reach, tentacles outstretched to receive his tithings. He of gaping maw and razored fangs, jaws cracked wide to devour souls._ The name of O’tabekkurrh encompasses him fully. And yet, O’tabekkurrh knows he cannot be himself among the living.

And so, armed with this knowledge, he pays a visit to his dearest friend.

Leroie’y cannot technically be classified as an eldritch god, although he was born from the Empress the same as the rest. Instead, he was granted the glorious task to be a Grand Marquis of Hell. Rumors that he commands thirty legions of demons regularly fly through every channel of gossip, as they so often do when an Empress’s child rises to their true greatness. In truth, Leroie’y is more than content with the ten legions he commands, thank you very much. He has never needed much to sew discord and dispute, and so a smaller retinue has always been his preference.

Although Leroie’y is nearly a century O’tabekkurrh’s junior, he has already found his spark among the mortal realm. Isabella is her birth name, and the irony of it drives O’tabekkurrh to laughter each time he considers it. _Devoted to God._ That aside, she is beautiful and bright with an unspoken strength about her. She has proven more than a fitting match for Leroie’y, and together, they have already produced multiple offspring to populate their kingdom. Admittedly, they are all very cute offspring. Fresh from the womb, their talons were imposing, their beaks sharp and bright. Even their eyes, with their yellow slit pupils, shone brightly in the dark of the birthing chamber from which they were extracted. O’tabekkurrh has to force himself to fight back the urge to ruffle their feathers each time he sees them playing amongst the sludge of one of Leroie’y’s many winding rivers.

All of this to say, Leroie’y knew what he was doing when it came to approaching the realms beyond — and one’s fated within them. On Earth, he went by Jean-Jacques Leroy. It was a nod to his given name, and a fitting title as he took the disguise of a Canadian playboy. In no time at all (and with very little effort), Leroie’y crafted himself a perfect personality with which to meet his spark. His expertise would be much-needed. O’tabekkurrh has always been a terrible liar. It was not a gift the Empress saw fit to bestow upon him.

This is how he’s found himself in Leroie’y’s study, crammed at a solid mahogany table next to his queen, as they lay out the plans for his spark retrieval. It takes barely a day, all things considered, to create O’tabekkurrh anew:

Should anyone find themselves curious about him, he is to present himself as Otabek Altin, a businessman from Kazakhstan assigned to his corporation’s newest branch office in New York City, New York.

Otabek finds it rather self-serving to name a city after the larger area it is located in, but again, humans are a strange sort. Even so, he cannot help but feel a small thrill at the prospect of seeing a true, Earthen city for the first time. He’s heard many things about Terra’s occupants. Firstly, they are apparently a loud bunch, although how anyone could be much louder than the unending screams of the void above, O’tabekkurrh cannot quite imagine. Secondly, they are something of a slovenly crowd. Everywhere they trail, mess and pollution follow. They build skyscrapers to honor themselves and remove trees to honor none. A strange sort, indeed. Thirdly — and this is something he still has trouble with, even if he’s been blessed with multiple glimpses of the human form already — they only have four appendages.

Four.

Appendages.

Two arms, two legs, no beaks, no suckers, no pincers, no tails, blunt teeth, one heart.

Their Empress must have a sense of humor. Still, as...streamlined as these humans are, O’tabekkurrh cannot deny the absolute thrall he feels each time he is granted a glimpse of his spark. One day, he will touch an arm. He will touch a leg. He will run his dactyli through human hair and finally know what the silk-thin strands feel like. Leroie’y says they feel like the softest down imaginable, which is already a feat because O’tabekkurrh has never felt down, either. Perhaps on Earth he will cradle a duck and finally _know_.

From his new identity, O’tabekkurrh (now Otabek, he must remember) crafts himself an existence. His power charges high with his new mission, and as he raises his arm to tear a hole through the fabric of time itself, he swears he can feel his very atoms excite with passion. Just before stepping through his fresh rift, he disguises himself. Two arms. Two legs. The maximum regular amount of human appendages needed to convince the regular human world that he is, in fact, a regular human man with regular human body parts. He grows his own hair, or at least, his best approximation of it. It is thick and coarse, much like the fur of Fenrir. He had felt it once, when his mother had the rug freshly crafted. She never could let go of her pets completely.

Upon completion of his regular, adult, human man body, he turns to Leroie’y for final inspection.

Leroie’y eyes him with penetrating scrutiny before declaring him fit for his mission, although he advises Otabek to wear clothes.

“Humans tend to be terribly skittish around their own reproductive organs. It’s a wonder they ever produce offspring at all.” The words ring with an experienced sort of amusement, and even though he finds himself extremely curious at that, Otabek thinks it best not to inquire. With a snap of Leroie’y’s claws, Otabek is bound in stifling fabric and thread. “This is called a track suit. They wear it for recreation. I don’t understand it much myself.”

“The skin of a—”

“Of a Chiron would suffice? I agree.”

“Well, wish me luck.”

“May the Empress smile upon your journey and grant you glory and fulfillment,” Leroie’y wishes with a wry smile.

“Whatever that means,” Otabek mumbles to himself, his oral tentacles flopping around the words just before he swaps them for a regular, human mouth with wide, blunt teeth.

“Whatever that means,” Leroie’y agrees, raising a fist in encouragement.

With a tentative smile, Otabek plunges through his rift and lands suddenly in a realm of smoke and ashes. The smile he cautiously bore drops completely from his face. This is not the correct realm. Granted, it is a beautiful realm. Yet still, he knows it is not the place destined for him to meet his spark. The problem with following the bond is that there is no exact science to it all. It is somewhat more of an art. Bond magic is mysterious, and in order to prove yourself worthy, you must also show that you can answer the calling and heed your bond’s directive. This often calls for a great deal of searching throughout several assorted realms. Naturally, since these realms are innumerable, it can prove most difficult.

Still, it has been some time since Otabek was sent away from home and left to his own devices. The land deserves some exploration. So explore he does, wandering the corners of the bleak universe, memorizing the strange placement of the stars, noting the absolute lack of any living soul. After a day, he approaches the end of the realm and his heartstrings tug, alerting him to a new direction.

He makes haste to tear open a fresh rift and sets off, stepping forward into a bright new world of lightning and thunder. Otabek finds himself atop a mountain, great scaled beasts circling its peak. Dragons, he realizes, eyes widening with surprise. He had thought dragons extinct, a relic of an ancient past. By the time he was birthed, it had been widely regarded that dragons were no more, hunted to extinction for their scales. Yet here he stands, watching them dip and fly in dazzling displays. Unable to stay, but slightly unwilling to leave, Otabek tears a new portal and retreats with one final glance tossed over his shoulder. Perhaps he can return to this realm and bring a young dragon home to please his spark. A mighty steed for his true love’s amusement.

Each new realm follows this pattern, a new uncharted land of mystery and wonder, and yet, never the land he seeks. His hearts grow weary with the searching, as each time the bond thrums, his answer to the call is never quite correct. His time runs ever shorter in the worlds that pass, and it sends him skittish and afraid.

Until one day the call grows louder. It grows insistent. It grows _deafening,_ and he knows. His spark is calling and he must go.

He lands in a park. At least, he is fairly certain it is. Human parks look quite different from the parks of the eldritch. For one, there are no corpses _or_ blue fires. There are no imposing obelisks to which nightmares can be transferred in exchange for ancient relics. Otabek very much prefers his own familiar fire parks with their great monuments and skin-flaying winds. No matter, parks are not what he came in search of.

Now that he finds himself in the human world, Otabek must figure out how to exist as one. He may have many powers at his disposal, but unfortunately, immediate knowledge of all things is not one of them. It does not take him long to locate a library and pore over the important bits of human history. Of course, over the course of his work in reaping and consuming souls as commanded by his calling, he has learned bits and pieces about the human realm. Still, Otabek could never have prepared himself for the full breadth of human history as it presents itself to him through book and newspaper article alike. For instance, he learns that his language is terribly out of date. The version of speech he is used to has long since died away, replaced by faster verbiage and shorter statements. This, he will have to remember.

Throughout the entirety of his research, however, he finds it most difficult to ignore the calling of his three hearts’ missing piece. His spark is closer than ever in this realm, and it pulls at him insistently, the need to go find him beating at his skull with every excited squeeze of his fifteen chambers.

But patience is a virtue, as they say. Whoever they are.

Otabek must take his time.

A task of utmost importance, he needs to charm himself a new living space to serve as his home. Hopefully he won’t require the full year to acquire his spark, but he is nothing if not a creature of preparation. The landlord — a short, squat man with hair growing lengthy from his ears — is easy enough to sway, succumbing quickly to Otabek’s influence. He even promises to fix the elevator in the building, something of an unusual event, if Otabek is to understand correctly.

A wave of the hand fills Otabek’s apartment with the sort of decorations and furniture he assumes to be average and normal for adult human men to have in their home, although there are far fewer bones than he finds reasonably comfortable. A final tour of the apartment to lay glamours and protections is all that remains, and with that, Otabek is ready to locate his spark.

 

+++

 

It’s a beautiful morning, he can admit, when Otabek sets out on his search. Humans refer to the current season as Fall, after the way the leaves drop from the trees, which seems a bit on the nose to him. Lazy naming aside, he can easily see why so many prefer the time of year. The air is comfortable, with a slight breeze shifting the leaves of the many plants he passes. The streets are bustling as he strolls them, led on by the tug of his instincts. He follows absently, drifting away from his consciousness as he allows his body to take over command.

Soon enough, Otabek approaches the very library he had visited just days before in pursuit of knowledge about his sparks’ realm. The tug in his chest strengthens to an uncomfortable degree, threatening to tear his spine from his body. Well, the spine he would have were he an actual human, anyway. His body thrums, feeling uncomfortable and itchy beneath his false skin, dragging him forward through the heavy double doors of the old building.

At home, libraries do not exist in such a fashion as they do on Earth. Yes, they hold knowledge to be parsed over and sorted in a relatively safe space, but that is where the comparison ends. The knowledge contained within the libraries Otabek is used to is infernal at best. Weathered tomes full of ledgers of souls collected, spells long faded from use, ancient creatures that only the most powerful can bring to heel. And the librarians. Ugh, the _librarians._

It’s somewhat of a vacation to step foot into these harmless, mortal halls of stories.

Otabek follows the burn in his chest as he climbs the staircase to the second floor of the library. It concentrates and roars as he creeps along aisles of books, past tables full of young humans hunched over texts of learning, and around large, overstuffed couches. Another thing Otabek has noted about humans is that they love reclining in all forms. He supposes it makes sense, since as of yet, he has not noted any ability for them to float unless suspended in water.

The thought distracts him for a moment until he rounds a corner and sees _him._

His spark. His beautiful, blessed, hand-crafted spark, shining around the edges with the telltale ethereal glow Otabek has heard so many stories about.

He’s softer than he appeared in Otabek’s visions, more delicate up-close. His yellow, human hair falls long in a soft curtain around his shoulders as he kneels down, eyes scrunched up in search of a particular tome on a lower shelf. The elbows and knees that seemed so sharp in his mind’s eye simply look fragile now. His skin is pale as the stars above, but his cheeks are rosy with life. His torso is long, his legs longer, and suddenly Otabek realizes he may have miscalculated the boy’s size.

His spark finds the book he was searching for and snaps it up in a plain, fleshy hand, standing to regard the cover. And he’s tall. He’s so very, _very_ tall. Otabek realizes quickly that to look directly into his eyes, he’ll need to crane his human neck to look upward at him. Something about that is extremely attractive. Otabek is sure there must be a term for this, but that will have to wait to be examined until a later time. A noise from behind Otabek startles his spark, the boy turning his way to search for the source.

Otabek feels suddenly shy.

In the split-second it takes for his spark to face his direction, Otabek takes himself invisible. The boy looks right through him, and Otabek’s center heart cracks wide open. The clearest, bluest, most ethereal eyes in all of creation lance through the space between them, and Otabek tries his best to remain still with the shock of it. The sound does not come again, and after many excruciating seconds of furrowed-brow staring, his spark shrugs to himself, turning back to the shelf to locate another book. Not a single librarian shows up to stop him or scream ancient incantations into his neck. It’s unsettling.

For the rest of the afternoon, Otabek remains invisible, simply observing as his spark studies the books he pulls from the shelves with care, taking notes in several assorted notebooks of his own. He must be a student, Otabek thinks, which would make him a young adult much like himself. This is fortunate. He has heard tell of other gods tracking down their own spark, only to find that they are still mere infants or very nearly dead. That is a fate almost worse than never finding your spark to begin with. For, although the eldritch have the ability to suspend time for their fated, certain rewards can feel rather more like punishment for those sparks living them.

The light of day fades through the windows as Otabek spends hours observing his spark study quietly alone. Eventually, the sky turns over to darkness and a buzzing emits from the boy’s pocket. He extracts a rectangle of glass, a box in which he has seemingly trapped light itself. He glances down at it and makes a face at whatever it is he finds. He pokes determinedly at the light and then taps a button on the side of the rectangle, sending it into darkness again. This happens a few more times until, finally, he gathers his belongings and stands with a sigh.

Otabek remains silent and disguised as he trails behind, following his spark as the boy returns to what he assumes is his own home. It’s a small and cramped apartment, much smaller than the one Otabek had charmed his way into. The furniture is sparse and well-worn, obviously used often and with gusto. It’s a positive sign — this means his spark is full of life and energy. Perhaps he is unnaturally strong, judging by the wear of the belongings.

Otabek wonders what his muscles feel like.

With any luck, he will learn.

 

+++

 

Three days pass, during which Otabek contents himself to remain concealed, simply trailing after his spark. The pull in his chest is indescribable, a buzzing that peaks and howls the closer he draws to the human. The gaping in his chest grows and blackens the further away he is from him, so he tries his best to be as close as possible at all times.

During the course of his observation, he learns that the human’s name is Yuri. _The light of God._ It suits him, with his brightness and gold. The human doesn’t speak often, but when he does, his words are punctuated and full of intent. His personality is strong, and determination radiates from his entire being. If he wasn’t convinced prior to his observations, Otabek finds himself more than convinced now that Yuri is his perfect match.

The issue, of course, is how to find a natural way to make an introduction.

This proves difficult, as there are very few natural ways to introduce yourself to your intended fate without sounding just a little off center. Otabek considers getting in line behind Yuri at a coffee shop the human frequents, but once he manages that, what would be the best way of greeting the other? He thinks that spilling coffee on him may not be well received, and he knows that humans often do not like being approached when they are accomplishing menial tasks.

He cannot approach him on the campus of his school, as his established identity would make it nonsensical to be there. Perhaps if he were to pretend to be interested in granting the school with a generous donation? That may be excessive.

At a loss for what to do, and feeling more alone with each passing day, Otabek resigns himself to simply float along, following his spark invisibly as he goes about his life.

Yuri is a busy man. Each day he rises early, goes to school, goes to the library to study, goes to work, then goes home and does it all again in the morning. It’s an exhausting sort of existence, Otabek thinks. Still, one of his favorite things about Yuri’s ritual is the occasional time the human spends dancing alone in a polished room.

The chamber he uses is crafted out of shining mirror and wood, empty save for a single chair and upright piano sat alone in a corner. Otabek enjoys sitting in the chair and silently watching as Yuri throws himself around the waxed floors in graceful movements. Each perfectly executed jump draws Otabek in, wrapping him in warmth at the thought of how accomplished his spark is, how beautiful and graceful and _strong_. He will make an excellent mate some day, Otabek is sure of it.

Weeks pass in this way, Yuri living and Otabek observing, until finally he can stand it no longer. His time is quickly slipping by and every receding moment tears hooks into his chest, deeper than the last. He must formally meet his spark.

Yuri has friends, although he likes to pretend that they annoy him more than they do. One evening, they gather at Yuri’s apartment, chattering and squawking. A female, one named Mila, with flaming red hair and mischief in her eyes, drags Yuri into his bathroom and sets to lecturing him about the state of his hair and skin. His voice is unamused when he parries each of her sentences with reasoning and excuses.

Otabek is curious as he listens in. This preening ritual is foreign to him, and he wonders as to why humans would need such an extended time to prepare for leaving their home. Would it not be easier to simply shift forms and be done with it?

He receives his answer in short service as the door is flung open and Yuri emerges, scrubbed clean and shiny. His hair is woven in intricate patterns, braids of all types piled stylishly atop his head like a crown. His lips are plump and shiny, his eyelashes darkened and curled impossibly long. Even his clothes are different, sleek and form-fitting.

Otabek’s hearts stop beating, and he has to slam a fist into his chest to get them to restart.

This is it, he knows. This is the evening he formally meets his spark. He can bear it no longer.

Otabek follows them as they take a cab to a bar in the heart of the city. He hasn’t yet been to a bar in this realm. He wonders what their suspension cages are filled with. His stomachs churn, mouth watering at the thought of enjoying a pickled harpy liver, the type that only a good watering hole can offer.

As the laughing mob of friends push their way through the front door, however, Otabek finds himself disappointed. There are no entertainment cages suspended from the rafters. In fact, there are no entertainment cages at all. He finds nary a single jar of pickled anything behind the bar, and all of the drinks just seem to be composed of varying multi-colored liquids. There isn’t even the customary infernal jackal wandering the floor to ensure no fighting occurs.

Instead, Otabek finds himself in a wide open room crammed to bursting with writhing bodies, walls reverberating with pounding music and shouted conversation. It’s a sweaty sort of place, thick with young pheromones drowned in perfumes of all kinds. It’s hardly the sort of place to meet your future consort.

Eldritch gods make do.

Otabek steps into the filthy restroom ( _finally,_ something familiar), and sets to work making himself presentable. He returns to full visibility, settling into the human form he agreed upon with Leroie’y. Remembering that humans prefer modesty, Otabek flips back through his mind over all of the outfits he’d seen the patrons of this club wearing. None of them seem particularly fantastic to him, so instead, he drapes himself in a look he remembers seeing on a billboard and finding aesthetically pleasing.

As Otabek steps out of the restroom in his new clothing, several heads turn in his direction, reminding him of his newly visible status. It’s discomforting to find that humans have no issue with looking upon his form in this way. His true self would strike them all down, cutting the room to its knees. He longs for that comfort.

As it is, he is on a mission that he cannot turn from. He must be successful in this, or he can never return home. That alone spurs him to move forward, struggling through the thick crowd of intoxicated humans. He lets his chest guide him, following the pull of his spark through the building. It’s a struggle without making use of flight or the power to compel, but eventually he makes it through to the other side of the room.

There, at a private table in the corner, surrounded by jackets and bags and looking extremely bored, sits Yuri. As if by some providence of the Empress herself, a single ceiling light shines down upon him, alighting him in a blue glow that renders his visage ethereal. He’s beautiful and angular beneath it, a regal creature sent to Earth for Otabek to find.

His fists flex at his sides as he approaches, and for some reason, all nerves fade away as Otabek makes his approach. This is right, what’s about to happen. It’s real and true, and he knows his spark will feel it, too. Something deep inside of him tells him so.

Yuri scrolls through his light rectangle (a cell phone, Otabek learned upon a return trip to the library) with his chin resting in one palm. He barely blinks as he does so, sighing softly to himself as he occasionally looks up and around the room, presumably searching for his friends. It makes no sense that someone as glorious as he should not be surrounded by admirers. In a sense, it makes Otabek outraged on his behalf, although a far more selfish part of himself takes joy in the fact that he will go unchallenged. Perhaps those of the mortal realm know not to bother a god’s spark, lest they be consumed without mercy.

Either way, as Otabek seats himself directly across the table from his beautiful, blessed, perfect spark, he cannot prepare himself for what he hears. Yuri turns big, beautiful blue eyes upon him and speaks the first words to connect their souls.

“So, you finally decided to stop creeping around, huh? And what’s with the leather, James Dean?”


	2. speak of the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the silent hill reference

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/168257245@N05/46066539681/in/dateposted-public/)   
_art by[elliott](http://badaltin.tumblr.com/)_

The dreams are somewhat of a sticking point for Yuri. It’s been several years now since he can recall sleeping without them. Of course, everybody dreams, that’s part of having a functioning brain. But the difference here is that Yuri knows his dreams mean something more. He’s an expert at hiding his ability to see the things tucked between the seams of the world. Only a few he trusts most know about the gift, and even then it’s not something they acknowledge very often.

Once, when he was extremely drunk, Georgi asked if he could pass a message on to his dead grandmother for him. It...did not go well. For either of them. Sometimes, when the light hits him just right, Yuri can still see the scar on his chin when he looks in the mirror.

So now, when Yuri finds himself shooting upright in his bed, soaking with sweat after receiving yet another jumbled vision of countless eyes and unending limbs chasing after him in the dark, he’s hard-pressed to know just what to do. Typically, he would call Lilia, but since she’s gone home for the summer, that’s not exactly an option.

The first dream Yuri can remember was relatively simple, really, just a bunch of glowing red orbs aimed at him from the darkness to the tune of garbled words chanted in some dead language. The atmosphere wasn’t the type to scare him, though. Rather, it was the type of scene that enveloped him, blanketed him in safety and reassurance. He knew those orbs, that song, that darkness. He loved it with an aching intensity, and it loved him back. After that, the dreams became steadily more complex as he got older. Different scenes, different _hims,_ all meeting and learning and loving some nameless, shapeless creature calling to him from the dark. Assorted Yuris in armor, or peasant’s clothing, or a monarch’s regalia, extending a hand to his otherworldly love. Two creatures destined to entwine and orbit the other for all of time and space. Or spaces? He isn’t entirely sure; sometimes the locations of their meetings don’t seem entirely earthly.

Yuri has lived several lives in his dreams. Each instance feels like more than a dream, though. They’re like memories of past lives, or lives that could have been, perhaps lives that have yet to come to pass. Something deep within him knows there’s a significance there, some untold secret he’s yet to unlock. Lilia had spoken of it with him just once before, giving him some nebulous, unhelpful advice about journeying his own path with unshaded eyes or some shit like that. The only eyes he had for that were of the rolling variety. It’s not exact, his gift. It might give him whispers, hints at what the universe needs him to know, but it’s exceptionally rare that receives direct information. The universe is a fickle mistress.

Recently, however, everything has become so much more vivid. The colors are brighter, the sounds are louder, the creature more real.

He’s an intimidating thing — all hulking mass coated in teeth and claws, tentacles and eyes. Yuri’s fairly certain there are some pincers in there, too. Maybe a feeler or three? It’s hard to tell, completely. Everything has a blurriness around the edges that makes it impossible to completely nail the image down. His mouth is wide and stuffed to the brim with fangs dripping poison obscured by more tentacles, only smaller and more compact. His forked tongue extends when he speaks, hissing jumbled syllables that Yuri just _knows_ he could understand if they were actually in the same room together. For some reason, he knows this creature. He knows him like a lost limb, intimate and missed.

Which is absolutely batshit fucking crazy.

But these days, it’s hard for him to tell what’s actually happening. Something has changed, shifted in the fabric between worlds. That much he knows to be true. Even Lilia agreed before muttering some excuse about the shifting trends in the crows’ flight and left him alone to deal with it all while she fucked off on a spirit trek through the Romanian mountains. She claimed to be seeking her own fallen star, but Yuri knows better. Last he heard, Yakov’s clan had settled deep in the heart of a hidden temple there, and she’s much too old these days to be hand reaping prophecies. It’s not a situation Yuri likes to know a lot about. Not since _the incident_ , anyway. Visions of Yakov’s hairy ass still haunt him sometimes.

But that’s no longer important. What _is_ important is the fact that Yuri can feel a storm kicking up inside his chest with each day that slips by. He hears it coming on the winds as they shift, seemingly only around him. A voice he’s never heard whispers broken, gurgling words of devotion and intent that curl around him as he plunges through city blocks and bustling parks. He feels eyes follow him as he tucks himself away in the corners of musty rooms, cracking into beat up books and oversized cans of energy drinks.

If he lets himself drift out of focus, Yuri catches something occasionally. Just out of the corner of his eye. A shadow, a movement, a great hulking form that disappears when he focuses his full attention on the spot it once occupied. It’s confusing at best. Typically, his sight doesn’t work this way. He’ll receive visions, dreams, intrusive thoughts that lead him down a winding, but definite path. At the end of the path, an answer of some variety. Sometimes the answer is clear, sometimes not. The important thing is that there always a path and always an answer.

This doesn’t feel like a path. It feels like a web, a choose your own adventure book missing its last few pages. Something tickles at the base of his brainstem each time he focuses in on the puzzle at hand. It tells him he already knows the answer. Has already known the answer for quite some time. Has _always_ known the answer. It just needs to be catalyzed.

Boom goes the dynamite, as they say.

Yuri is curious as to what the flame to light the fuse will be.

 

+++

 

The first inclination that something is changing comes to him while he’s sending Mila a text from the floor of the library to beg off of partying for the night. He’s got three midterms coming up and a distinct feeling that he’ll be failing one of them. If he wants to keep his scholarship, he can’t do that. He squats down deep, searching for the book on ancient Sumerian texts he knows for a fact was just there a week ago. The words on the spines before him have long stopped making sense. Instead, they all blur together into a jumble of bleary spots crawling around the shelf. Yuri squints his eyes, tempted to drop his forehead to rest on his knees when a loud bang startles him from further down the aisle.

He looks down the stacks for the source of the sound and finds nothing, but _feels_ something _._ It’s a tug, a pull, a cry for attention. It starts at the top of his head and worms its way through his body, burrowing deeper and deeper until it nestles itself uncomfortably in his chest, settled between the chambers of his heart. It’s a yearning older and darker than time itself, and it _hurts._ It claws and moans and aches inside him, begging for relief. It knocks the wind out of his lungs and sends his mind reeling, eyes searching for the beacon, the source of his sudden suffering. The pressure is intense, an incredible weight saddled on his shoulders.

Around him, the library begins to change. The bookshelves wobble and melt in his vision, the sunlight filtering through the large picture windows darkens and goes grey. The walls start to ooze blood, caustic red and green and black that bubbles and tears at the filigree wallpaper. He’d call for a janitor if he thought it would help. As it is, he shakes his head to clear the images from around him, and as he does, he notices it. There’s a blank spot right in the center of it all, a shimmering absence that sticks out like a sore thumb. His fingers flex at his side, itching to reach out and search for the cause itself. He stifles the urge, still staring down the empty stacks of books.

Just as suddenly as the feeling struck, it disappears. The library returns to normal, leaving him empty and bereft. But that’s not entirely accurate. He’s not empty, really. He’s...unfinished. Incomplete. There was something there once, but it’s gone now. He needs it back.

The feeling follows him all night as he eases himself back into his studies. He can’t shake the idea that he needs to seek it out. He has to unravel the mystery. Yuri needs his missing piece back. He didn’t know he’d lost it until now, but it’s his and his soul yearns for its return.

In the days following, he feel flashes of it wherever he goes. In class, it sits at his shoulder like a ghost. In Starbucks, it tugs at his spine like an anchor. In the dance studio, he feels it all around like a blanket draped across his shoulders. The longer he spends with it, the more familiar it gets. He begins to understand the signature of it, the familiar cadence to the buzzing beneath his skin.

It’s not a random wavelength. It’s a pattern. A heartbeat. Several heartbeats.

Mila senses it, sometimes. Having a witch for a best friend is incomprehensibly convenient, it turns out. She may not have his visions, or see his dreams, but she _can_ feel the shape of the things that haunt him. This one is big. Huge. Ridiculous. They spend hours scrying and triangulating, seeking out the source. Mila reads more runes than Yuri can ever remember her reading in the entire time he’s known her. They all tell her absolutely nothing. But it’s not quite like that at all. They _refuse_ to tell her anything. She tries and tries, but each time she looks at her stones, her vision blurs and shakes. She gasps and struggles, hands reaching blindly into temporary blindness.

It does not bode well.

 

+++

 

The glamour slips, as all glamours eventually do.

Yuri catches glimpses, peeks of the source. He’ll turn a corner quickly and see an unfamiliar man pass by, unsuccessfully turning his attention away before he can be caught. He’s smaller than Yuri expected, compact but muscular and darkened around the edges. His face is angular and taciturn in appearance. The face of a man on a mission.

Something about him sends Yuri’s mind reeling every time. His skull isn’t big enough to contain the flood of emotions and images that wash through. Tentacles and teeth and claws and stars and blood and desire and loss and separation and joyjoy _joy._ It’s all too much every single time. After some time, it gets annoying.

Eventually the creature stops pretending. Or at least, Yuri’s fairly certain he does. It’s sort of hard to tell with these things. Either way, once Yuri catches a glimpse, the glamour falls away in full. He sees the man as he follows him to his classes, as he dumps a Red Bull into an extra large cup of coffee, as he studies the influence of dead languages on modern syntax and the similarities between subjects of humor centuries ago and now. The man takes a seat on the chair in the corner while Yuri takes himself through routine after routine of dances to help calm his roiling mind.

Whether the man intends to remain totally silent or not is indiscernible to Yuri. Truthfully, he doesn’t much care. What he knows for certain is this: the closer the man is to Yuri, the quieter his mind chooses to be. Yuri knows for a fact that he’s the key to stifling his latest bout of visions and dreams. This doesn’t make the whole stalking thing any better. In fact, it spurns Yuri on even further in his decision to force the man to acknowledge what’s happening here first. He’s always been nothing if not stubborn.

In any case, Yuri knows it’s not all that simple to begin with. Each time Yuri sees the guy, he’s wearing the same blank expression and the same bland outfit. It’s like he pulled an approximation of a normal human dude out of his ass and hoped for the best. He’s close. He’d pass with anyone that wasn’t Yuri, at any rate.

Things ramp up to approximately level one thousand when he begins showing up in Yuri’s apartment. The first day, Yuri found himself awakening from his most vivid dream yet of all-encompassing tentacles and grunting murmurs running down his spine. The change occurred when Yuri realized with startling clarity that he could understand some of what was being asked of him. As he shot upright in bed, his chest heaving, gasping for breath, he saw him. The man — still dressed in forgettable clothing, still impossibly blank. Standing. In his room. In the corner. _Watching._

Obviously, he didn’t think Yuri could see him. Fuck, at that point, Yuri wasn’t even sure if he _was_ seeing him or if his mind was simply splintering apart. Mila had mentioned once how the sight tends to leave people scattered over time. Yuri had staunchly refused the possibility of it happening to him, but now? Now he wasn’t so sure.

So, instead of acknowledging the presence, instead of reacting to the ink black darkness spreading and creeping and crawling along his walls like so much oil spilled in the ocean, Yuri stood himself up in the center of his room and beelined directly to the kitchen to make some toast. And it was fine. The edges of his rooms all shimmered as the man floated along behind him, eyes unblinking, boring into the column of his neck. The strands of his high-pile carpet writhed and wriggled beneath Yuri’s feet, seeming to part ways for him as he plodded along the hallway. A low hissing sound crept through the apartment, a white noise soundtrack that set his teeth grinding as he brewed a strong cup of tea. But it was fine. Totally fine.

And when the man began sitting beside him in his classes as he silently took notes and clenched his jaw, Yuri perfected the art of ignorance. Once, he thought a classmate caught a glimpse as they passed by Yuri’s row. For a split second, fresh eyes glanced behind Yuri and widened impercetibly, but just as quickly as realization dawned, it slipped away beneath a new shroud of confusion. Surreptitiously, Yuri glanced back to the man to find him focused in on the other student with heat and precision. It was the most emotion he’d seen on the man’s face, and were it not for the fact that he was used to it by now, Yuri would have been terrified.

Instead, he felt warm. Comforted. Protected.

Fucked up.

He was fucked up.

Some weird ghost man from, most likely, another dimension who definitely didn’t think Yuri could see him, was stalking him, following him through every facet of his everyday life, showing up in his _home,_ and he felt comforted by that.

Again, fucked up.

Mila’d always said Yuri was a weird one. He couldn’t entirely argue with that anymore.

 

+++

 

Things finally come to a head when Mila decides Yuri needs a mental break. She, along with a few of their other friends, dress him up like a Bratz doll and drag him out to the local bar just off campus, where she promptly plops him down in a sticky padded booth and shoves two drinks in front of him.

“Drink.”

“Mila—” he begins to argue, even though he knows it’s an exercise in futility.

“Nope! _No._ You’ve been— _God,_ Yuri. Do you know how bad you’ve looked for the past few weeks?”

He has an inkling.

“Like, I love you so much, Yuri. You’re my best friend. I would murder several men and display their corpses in my yard for you, but holy _shit,_ you look awful.”

“Thanks, Mila,” Yuri deadpans.

“Just, the worst.”

“Fantastic.”

“Like, if Satan was driving a bus, and aimed it straight for you, but then he wasn’t happy, so he backed it over you and then ran you over again.”

“Amazing.”

“And the bags under your eyes! I could pack for a week long vacation.”

“Great.”

She sighs, the small smile she wore during her teasing slipping away. “Are you okay? Has it gotten worse? I tried again the other day, you know. Without you there.”

That grabs his attention. He sits up straighter in his seat, wrapping his fingers tightly around his glass. “How’d it go?”

Mila sighs again, deeper, pained. “Worse. With you there, it was like everything was slipping around you. Like you were being shrouded by some cosmic jetstream or something. But _without_ you there? Yuri, it was like you didn’t even _exist._ ”

Yuri stops mid-drink. “Didn’t exist?”

“Yeah,” she says, tipping his glass back up to his lips with a slim finger. “Keep drinking. It was like, once I wasn’t looking directly at you, the universe decided to quit pretending you were here. There was just...a void where you should have been.” She stops for a moment, regarding him silently. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on? You’ve felt different.”

Of course he has. And of course she would notice. The best thing (and simultaneously, the worst thing) about their relationship has always been the fact that they’re always on the same wavelength. They see each other as they truly are, no judgement, no bullshit. So when something’s wrong with one of them, it’s like it’s wrong with the both of them. The issue with this, naturally, is that there’s nowhere to hide when things go wrong. You can’t keep secrets from a soulmate, and Mila is as close to one as Yuri thinks he’s ever going to get.

“I—” Yuri starts, but pauses. How do you explain this? How do you say this without sounding insane, even to an actual witch? He’s not sure if there is a way. “Listen, I’ll tell you, but not here. And you have to promise to just listen before you say anything. Can you do that for me?”

She looks unsurprised, if not still ready to argue, but nods anyway. “Of course I can, sweetheart.”

“Good,” he answers with some relief. “Because I feel like I’m going fucking cra—” Yuri stops speaking as suddenly, sensation slams into him, deep into his very soul. A tingling feeling, like the trepidation just before doing something risky. Here he sits, preparing to jump from a plane, but he doesn’t know if he has a parachute or even _why_ he’s jumping. He just knows he’s about to plummet.

“Yura?” Mila asks softly, setting a comforting hand on his forearm. She hasn’t used his nickname in ages, and it plucks a nostalgic cord within him. He misses that gentleness sometimes. Suddenly, she stills. Her fingers flex on Yuri’s arm. “I can feel it. What’s here?”

Yuri looks around the bar, but sees nothing. The feeling still lingers, a buzzing of expectation penetrating deep into his core. Something is coming. Something big. He’s fairly certain he knows what it is. He shakes the thought from his mind once he comes back to himself, Mila’s worried expression breaking him from his downward spiral.

“It’s nothing,” he says. She doesn’t believe him. From the tightening of her fingers around his arm, to the slight raising of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, he knows she doesn’t believe him. She knows he’s lying. She felt it herself. But she’s always been good at letting things go until he’s ready. So she does.

“Okay. We’ll talk later, then. For now,” she says, raising her own glass and downing whatever oddly thrown together concoction she favors, “I’m gonna go dance!”

She pats his head as she slinks away into the crowd of bodies in the middle of the room, shooting a wink over her shoulder. Their friends are in there somewhere, having broken off immediately upon arrival. Although bars aren’t exactly his scene, Yuri’s glad they dragged him here tonight. At the very least, it’ll afford him a chance to get this craziness off his chest. Maybe Mila can help, maybe not. But sitting here with a drink in his hand is proving extremely helpful in distracting him from his plight. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket to read over a few articles he has assigned for one of his classes, and it’s pleasant, if not a little useless since he finds himself unable to focus.

The buzzing under his skin shifts and peaks, coalescing and dragging in one direction, until he can finally ignore it no longer. He looks up in the direction of the pull, and his eyes widen at what he sees. Pushing silently through the crowd, although it’s rather unnecessary as they part on their own for him, is the man. Only now, he’s different. For one, he’s corporeal. Yuri knows this because for two, he’s _gorgeous._ He’s all dressed up in a leather jacket and tight jeans artfully torn at the knee. His hair is slicked back in a smooth undercut. People are staring. At him. People are staring directly at the man who has been haunting Yuri’s every waking moment for weeks, but they’re _seeing him._ Which is great. Fucking incredible, really. What isn’t great is that the man is only looking at Yuri. And approaching relatively quickly for such a crowded place.

Yuri sticks his nose back in his phone, doing his best impression of boredom. He settles his chin in a hand and flicks over the screen casually, projecting his finest air of distraction. It doesn’t matter, because not even a minute passes before the man slides into the booth, settling directly across from him.

Okay. It’s not a big deal. Yuri will just...ask what his deal is. His _actual_ deal. The deal that lets him float silently in Yuri’s bedroom while he sleeps. The thought of that alone gives Yuri the strength to look up at him and open his mouth.

“So, you finally decided to stop creeping around, huh? And what’s with the leather, James Dean?”

Well. He tried.

The man jerks a little bit in his seat, seemingly surprised by Yuri’s acknowledgement of his stalking tendencies. His eyes widen nearly imperceptibly. It would seem an actual body is difficult for him to control. If that’s what Yuri is, in fact, looking at. He’s still unsure.

“So, what are you? Like, a demon or something?”

“Ah, no,” the man says. His voice is a deep timbre, resonant and rumbling. Something about it tugs at Yuri’s heart, which is slightly concerning. He feels strange, as though his very cells are rearranging themselves, just being in proximity to the guy. “I’m Otabek.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “Well, Otabek. What do you want from me?”

“Just to say hello,” Otabek answers. _And perhaps to inform you that you belong to me, you are destined for me, our souls were split apart at my very creation and so we must rejoin and rule over innumerable indescribable creatures that will lay at your feet and serve you just as I. Also your eyes are pretty. I am very into pretty eyes these days._

“Wh-what?” Yuri sputters, head foggy. What the fuck was all that? The voice in his head, but not in his ears. It was haunting and familiar. Like one of the voices in his dreams. Like _all_ of the voices in his dreams. Otabek looks on at him silently for a moment.

“I just wanted to say hello,” he repeats. “To meet you. I have been watching you.”

“You don’t fucking say,” Yuri quips. To his credit, Otabek looks chastised.

“Is that not acceptable?”

The thing is, he looks so sincere. This strange creature dressed like a real boy, sitting in front of him and asking him questions of propriety as though he truly doesn’t know how manners and _not stalking people_ works. Yuri sighs.

“We can cut the crap,” he growls. “You’ve been following me. I can _see_ you. The actual you. Parts of it, anyway. I’m not blind.” Otabek recoils, his eyes truly widening. His glamour fades minutely, his edges shimmering and shifting. Yuri watches his control slipping, feeling victorious. “So again I ask: What are you and what do you want from me?”

Otabek leans forward in his seat and settles his elbows on the table, eyeing Yuri carefully over laced fingers.

“You’ve seen the visions.”

“Yes.”

_You can hear my pleas._

“ _Yes,_ ” Yuri hisses out loud. Like humans do. Because fuck telepathy, seriously.

“And you know what this means.”

“Not a damn clue, but I gotta tell you, I’m curious as hell. Did you know you made my walls ooze? Actual ooze. All spooky, haunted house style. I can’t call the landlord for that shit. You’re lucky it went away when you did. I can’t afford to pay for the cleanup on that shit.”

“You could see that?” Otabek asks, leaning further forward.

“Yes!” Yuri exclaims, doing his best to hold himself back from throwing his hands in the air in his exasperation.

“Well, that is excellent to hear.”

Yuri pushes his fingertips into the skin of his temples, kneading deep and trying to will away his frustration. “How, in any world or realm or wherever the _fuck_ you’re from is that excellent?”

“It means you are closer to me than I anticipated. I will not have to work as hard to find you.”

“Dude, what are you even talking about? I’m literally sitting right here.”

“Your flesh is, yes.”

Before Yuri can voice his confusion, Mila’s bright, suspicious, voice breaks their intense focus on each other. “Yura! Darling! Who is this?”

“I am Otabek,” he says before Yuri can say anything, offering his hand to her like a proper human gentleman. _You did not mention you had a guardian._

Yuri growls internally at the statement. It almost feels like an accusation, although he can’t understand what the accusation actually would be. _I don’t._

_I see._ Otabek answers. He doesn’t sound convinced.

”Well, Otabek, it’s lovely to meet you,” Mila responds, eyeing his hand with suspicion. She does not take it. “Could you give us a second?”

“Yes, of course,” Otabek immediately acquiesces. He wanders away into the crowd, disappearing among the squirming throng of bodies. Mila and Yuri watch him go silently until he’s no longer in view. The moment he’s gone, she turns on Yuri, an accusatory finger shoved into his chest.

”Yuri, what the fuck. Are you okay? There’s something...not right about him.”

“Yeah, I know. I was working up to that.”

“Is this part of the thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” She doesn’t look like she sees, though.

“Well, at least one of us does.”

_She is a powerful guardian, beloved. You have chosen well._ Yuri’s head snaps up at the sound of the voice in his head. He searches through the crowd, eyes narrowed until they find Otabek, leaning casually against the bar, watching them speak. He glowers at the man across the room

_I’m_ not _your beloved,_ he thinks harshly in his direction. He hopes Otabek can hear him. _Holy shit what the fuck._ He’s a damn liar. He knows what’s going on here.

_Ah, we have not spoken of that yet. Perhaps we should._

“Oh my god, what is happening,” Yuri groans through gritted teeth.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Mila replies, crossing her arms over her chest. She spins on her heel to glare Otabek down as he returns to them. “Who are you? Really?”

“This is not a conversation we should conduct here,” Otabek answers coolly. At least, he’s trying for coolness. It doesn’t quite land in Yuri’s opinion, his tone shifting just too close to nervousness. He glances over at Mila, sharing a brief look. It doesn’t seem to land for her, either.

“Then we’ll go to my place,” Yuri answers. “You’re familiar with it, of course.”

Otabek’s human face flares red while Mila tugs Yuri aside.

“Yura, I don’t like this.”

“Look, I’m not feeling too great about it either, but it’s gotta happen. I haven’t told you everything yet, and I promise I will, but I _need_ to do this. I have to know who he is. I can’t explain it, and I know this sounds crazy, but he’s something to me. I know he is, but I just don’t know what. I can feel it, though. Does that make sense?”

She sighs. “It does.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you. We’ll just—we’ll see what he has to say, then I’ll tell you everything I’ve seen.”

“Wait,” she says, arm shooting out to grasp him by the elbow. “Everything you’ve _seen?_ Yuri, what exactly’s been going on with you?”

“I told you I thought I was going crazy.”

“You did.”

“You told me you’d listen.”

“I did.”

“So I’m going to ask you to go a little further and trust me. Can you please do that? For me?”

Her brow scrunches under the weight of her worried expression. Yuri can tell she doesn’t want to agree, but she’s always been just a little too good for him, he thinks. “Okay.”


	3. now you see me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> give me cosmic psychic vision meet cutes or give me DEATH

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/168257245@N05/46066539991/in/dateposted-public/)   
_art by[elliott](http://badaltin.tumblr.com/)_

When Otabek was still but a whelp, he was given a rare vision. It was an unusual one, for the fact that it was a full and complete scene laid before his eyes; a gift from his Empress, most unheard of for such a young age.

It had come to him, as most visions often do, as he was performing a mindless task. One day of each movement, he was assigned to attend to the void nursery. Assisting to raise other whelps would help to refine his abilities with his own someday, he was told. It would refine the small part of his nature that yearned to replicate and nurture his own bloodline.

He was young, however, and found himself bored by wiping oozing tails and soothing bone-rattling cries. Which was just as well, because the moment he settled the final child in its skeletal bassinet, his arms went slack, his body seized with a vision.

_A warrior of gold and fire stands from the bed in their shared chambers. He stretches his back, arms raised above his head in an elegant line. Each nodule of his back pops in succession. O’tabekkurrh watches the movement of his delicate frame as the muscles beneath his skin tighten and flex around their frame. His body is long and lean, lithe and strong in a whipcord way. He is powerful and bright and beautiful. His soul is a glowing gem among scuffed and dirty realms. He is the greatest part of O’tabekkurrh, and any day with him absent is unbearable._

_The warrior chuckles as he relaxes his arms, peering over his shoulder at O’tabekkurrh with a teasing smile in his eyes._

_“You’re staring again,” he murmurs. His voice is spun sugar and violets, sweet and warm and full of unending depth. It is packed with a sort of gentleness that O’tabekkurrh is still unsure that he deserves._

_“You give me much to stare at,” he answers simply. “Perhaps you should consider that.”_

_The warrior turns, placing a knee on the edge of their plush bed, and crawls forward until he hovers over O’tabekkurrh, hands placed on either side of his head. His long hair hangs heavy around O’tabekkurrh’s face, a beautiful, soft drape that plunges him into filtered light. The warrior’s features are softened this way, his eyes alight with love and mirth. Even after so much time together, his beauty still manages to take O’tabekkurrh by surprise._

When O’tabekkurrh came back to himself in the nursery, he found himself overwhelmed by panic. Back then, the vision terrified him. It was so full and bright and comforting, all things that he did not know he could ever feel. Eldritch creatures, he thought, were above such connections and emotions. But now, with many years between himself and that vision, O’tabekkurrh knows without a doubt that he cannot wait until the day that vision becomes his reality. He takes comfort in it, knowing that it can still be. That it _will_ be if he makes it so.

And he must. If he is to return home, to ink himself fully into the history of his people, he _must_ make this connection and solidify the future that he longs for so much. There will be hurdles to conquer, he knows — his awkwardness, his spark’s doubt, his spark’s self-appointed guardian.

But surely, the ledgers of the ancients will gloss over this particular time in his history. Of course, records must be kept. They are vital for the passage of ancient knowledge and secrets deep, but they also keep account of mistakes to never be repeated.

Mistakes like this one.

Mistakes like following his spark into a sticky nightclub and watching him read in a corner as his friends dance and pose and peacock around the room. Mistakes like finally approaching said spark and utterly destroying any semblance of poise and control he held. Mistakes like agreeing to follow that spark home along with the boy’s personal supernatural bodyguard, where he will be trapped, unguarded.

He can just imagine the summary of the moment now.

> _O’tabekkurrh_
> 
> _He of the undying sight_
> 
> _One of darkness and many eyes_
> 
> _His reach unending and gaping maw_
> 
> _Struck dumb by flaxen hair_
> 
> _And bony knees_

Otabek squirms in his false skin.

Still, he reminds himself as he trails Yuri and Mila up the stairs to his spark’s apartment home, this is something he must do. If he can only have his moment with Yuri, to show him what he knows and what he’s seen, he knows he can bring him to understanding.

The apartment feels different in human skin. With the dulled connection to his spark’s soul, it feels oddly empty. Without heart or warmth. Stifling. He longs to reach out, to take his spark by the hand and tug his warmth close. But he cannot. Not yet.

The trio remain quiet as they enter Yuri’s living room. Mila perches herself on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, staring expectantly up at Otabek. Her ankles are crossed, and her foot taps against the floor as she shakes it in an even tempo.

“Okay,” she prompts shortly, Yuri taking a seat at her side. “Explain.”

_Your guardian is a pushy one,_ Otabek projects to Yuri with amusement.

_Not my guardian._ He’s annoyed, Otabek can tell, but it’s endearing.

_Is she aware of this?_

There’s a brief pause in his head.

_...I don’t know._

_Hmm._

“Well?” Mila huffs. All Otabek wants is to get Yuri alone, to explain, to connect. But, he supposes, if this is the way to accomplish that goal, then this is what he must do.

“Where would you like me to begin?” he asks, although he suspects he knows the answer.

“You can start by telling us what you are. I can’t scry for you, I can’t detect you. It’s like you don’t exist. And when you’re near Yura, it’s like he doesn’t, either.”

“Ah, yes. That will happen,” Otabek answers. “It’s a protective measure.”

“Protective?” Yuri asks. His eyebrows quirk in concern. “Protective from what?”

Otabek thinks for a moment, considering the best way to explain. His skin itches with the desire to drop his glamour and simply _show_ him what needs protecting, but the sight is overwhelming for humans at the best of times. He needs this to go properly.

“You have noticed that I am not mortal.” The two nod their heads. “I have noticed myself that you two are...gifted, yes?”

“I can see things,” Yuri says slowly. “The nature of things. Things that are there but aren’t.”

“Basic witch here,” Mila says casually, drumming her fingers against her bicep.

“Of course,” Otabek answers. It makes sense now, that his spark could see him without direct contact. That his friend could seemingly feel Otabek’s presence. They both must be most powerful. “Well, I am a creature of a different realm. An Eldritch being.”

Mila gasps. “An old god?”

“We are called a great many things, I think,” he admits. “But you are not incorrect. I myself am a reaper. Although, I find myself unsure as to what that would mean to you. I consume.”

“Consume,” Yuri repeats blandly.

“Souls,” Otabek clarifies.

Mila snorts in derisive laughter. “Fucking of course. Of _course._ God, Yura, can anyone normal ever have a crush on you?”

“A crush?” Otabek can’t help but feel insulted. “This is no mere ‘crush’ as you humans are so fond of saying. This is fate. We are entwined. My fate is directly tied to yours, Yuri.”

“What do you mean?” the man in question asks. “Like, if I die, you die?”

“In a sense, you could say that. Are you familiar with the concept of soulmates?” Yuri nods. “You are something of that to me. We call them sparks — the spark to light the flame. You are the part of me split away upon my birthing and sent to live in safety until we are called to meet again. I have but one year to claim you upon my warming.”

“Slow down there, Casanova,” Mila declares, standing from the couch. “You won’t be claiming _anybody_ today.”

“Well, of course not,” he agrees. “I cannot just _take_ my spark. They must choose to be reunited with me. Free will is of utmost importance. If he chooses not to accept me, then I will abide that decision.”

“Free will,” she says flatly. “How is it free will if he’s literally a piece of you? That hardly sounds fair to me.”

“Yes, I suppose it must not,” Otabek admits.

“Okay, hi, hello, I have a question. Yuri has a question. You know, the person this actually fucking affects?” Yuri butts in, standing from the couch. Otabek turns to him immediately. His aura is so sharp and intense, his presence so suddenly commanding. Otabek nearly doubles over under the crushing weight of his vibrance. If this is what he would be missing, Otabek knows he would be sorely disappointed to be sent away from him.

“Please,” he gestures for Yuri to go on.

“You say you have a year from your warming? What is that?”

Ah, he was warned this would occur. Leroie’y cautioned that mortals know nothing of their ways. “A warming is a signal we receive to inform us when it is time to go in search of our spark. Our body heats and directs us along the path to our spark — that would be you for me. Upon the signal, we have one year to find our spark, connect with them, and bring them home to our realm.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then we cannot return and we die.”

Yuri flinches at the words, but Otabek remains still. He is a creature of many centuries’ age. He has long since come to terms with death and what it means, even in the frame of his own mortality. It is nothing to him anymore.

“That’s dark.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. “But so is never knowing the completion of one’s soul.”

“Well now, that’s just manipulative,” Mila interjects. “You can’t say this is free will and then lay down the biggest guilt trip I’ve literally ever heard in my entire life.”

Yuri snorts at her. “She’s not wrong.”

“Yes, I am aware how this must all sound,” Otabek says smoothly. “But I was not being deceptive when I said I would accept whatever decision you come to. But, if I may, I would like to show you something.” He steps forward, reaching a hand out toward Yuri. His spark eyes it cautiously. “I will not hurt you. I would never hurt you,” Otabek reassures, and finds himself shocked, somewhat, at how honest and raw his voice sounds to his own ear. Mila opens her mouth to say something, but Yuri holds up his hand, stopping her.

“Mila, it’s fine.” He looks up into Otabek’s face and accepts his outstretched hand. “I trust him. For some fuckin’ reason.”

Otabek smiles, relieved, as Yuri’s gentle touch settles in his own. Mila makes a strangled noise, but it falls irrelevant as their skin connects. Immediately, a warmth spreads from their contact. It is kind and calm, reassuring as it stretches along the length of Otabek’s arm, webbing out all along his skin. Yuri shivers before him.

“Do you feel that?” he whispers, eyes wide and shining.

“I do,” Otabek affirms. He tugs Yuri forward, crushing him to his chest in a desperate embrace, and the world falls away. Yuri gasps, Otabek shakes, and their souls crash into each other.

_It’s dark where he is, but not intimidating. There’s a comforting warmth here, all-encompassing and supportive as he floats blindly in his fluid. Occasionally, a voice comes to him, humming comfort and speaking words he does not yet understand. Still, he knows there is nothing to fear. The voice cares for him,_ loves _him, wants to see him strong and happy and accomplished._

_He knows the time is coming soon for him to leave this place, wherever it is. He does not want to._

_And yet, he also knows there is something bigger in his destiny. Something he is meant to do. Something great. He knows it is coming, even in the liminal passing of time here. His surroundings have been slowly shifting, changing around him. The walls are falling further away from each with each passing moment, throbbing and fluttering in their changing. Each moment, he grows stronger and more distinct._

_The time is coming when he must leave and make something of himself. The voice grows stronger, more defined, until eventually, he hears her perfectly. Her calm voice, her soothing tone, her promises of rewards and satisfaction. The time is upon him, and he must be set free into the world._

_The darkness is pierced with a blinding bolt of white. It shimmers and sparkles, growing wider and brighter, rushing toward him with breakneck speed. It overtakes him, beckoning earnestly. He has no choice but to follow. He reaches a shy tendril out toward the light, and is immediately engulfed._

_Inside the light, there is laughter. It’s his, he thinks, but not. Something inside him warms, heating incomprehensibly until it is much too hot. It’s searing, the heat. It hurts and burns and twists inside him, and he cries out beneath the crushing weight of the pain of it all. Something inside him tears apart. It rushes away from him, expelling itself from his body. The moment it leaves, he is bereft, left alone to float in the light, in the pain, in the loneliness until suddenly—_

_“Awaken, little one. It is quite alright.”_

_He opens his eyes. All around him is warmth and comfort, shrouding his body as he finds himself lifted into a pair of great arms._

_“You will see him again, my child. My O’tabekkurrh.”_

_O’tabekkurrh wails._

Yuri and Otabek watch the scene unfold distantly as it passes, some steps away. Otabek has nearly forgotten this moment, so long ago as it was.

“Was that...was that you being born?”

“Yes, it was. It was your birth, as well, in a way.”

“The pain? Was that _—_?”

“It was you being crafted from a piece of me. We all experience the separation upon our birth. It is why our sparks call out to us once we mature.”

“What the fuck.”

“What the fuck, indeed.”

The image before them shimmers and wobbles, fading away as something new fades in.

_The lights of the hospital are bright overhead as the woman on the bed cries out in pain._

_“It’s alright, Vera. It’s alright,” a nurse soothes, running gloved fingers down her arm. “It’s almost time, but you have to breathe for me. Remember your breathing?” She demonstrates the motions, coaching the woman along as her pulse evens and the contraction passes. “Yes, like that. Very good. He will be with us soon, dear. The wait is nearly over.”_

_A doctor shuffles into the room, sleep rumpled and harried as he slides gloves over aging hands. “Well, Miss Plisetsky! I heard your little one just couldn’t wait to see you any longer!”_

_“Oh, is that what this is?” she jokes weakly. “Excitement?”_

_“Well,” he volleys back, throwing himself down on a rolling stool and scooting forward to the edge of her table, “I wouldn’t exactly call it fun, would you?”_

_She laughs appreciatively at the joke. “No. No, I would not.”_

_“But it’s just as well,” he announces, patting her knee and standing. “It’s time to go!”_

_The nurse joins Vera Plisetsky at her side, gripping her hand in her own. “Are you ready for the hard part?”_

_“As ready as I can be, I suppose.” Her jokes trail off as the throes of childbirth take her, rearing their ugly, painful head. The room rings with her cries of anguish, but not for long. Her son is pulled into the world, a bright and bloody mess. She smiles tiredly as they clean him and check his tiny body. Her smile broadens once they set him in her arms, swaddled in hospital blankets and impossibly small._

_“My Yuri,” she cooes. She reaches down to run a gentle finger along his cheek, and as she does, his little mouth opens wide._

_Yuri wails._

The scene fades away in silence.

“Well, I guess that’s one thing we have in common,” Yuri jokes.

“It would seem so,” Otabek agrees absently. He’s distracted, seeing the birth of his spark. Even then, as a whelp Otabek never saw, he was brilliant.

“So, what happened between me being split from you and me being born?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know. There are parts of soulwork that even we do not understand. The Empress is the only one who truly does.”

“The Empress?”

“Ah, yes. She is our queen and mother. I believe she would be something like your God.”

“Ahh, okay. But _—_ ”

Yuri does not get to finish his thought as another vision seeps in. This time, the focus is on a time neither of them have seen before. Otabek can tell this, because the setting is unfamiliar to him, and Yuri’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he takes in the unfamiliar landscape.

_The battlefield is utter chaos as the war rages all around them. Smoke rises from scorched earth and ash rains down upon them like snow. O’tabekkurrh adjusts his armor around his tentacles as he squares his shoulders, readying to reenter the fray. Yuri sidles up to his side, leaning heavily against him while he tends to a fresh wound from some lower demon’s broadsword. Otabek runs a loving pincer over Yuri’s hand._

_“Will you be alright, my love?”_

_Yuri smirks up at him through blood matted lashes. “This is nothing.”_

_Otabek lays a dactylus across the wound, charging the limb with his power. It glows and warms slightly as he works, healing Yuri’s wound. Insignificant it may be, but he does not like to see his husband injured so._

_“See?” Yuri chuckles once his skin is fully knit together. “Nothing.”_

_Otabek huffs a laugh, opening his mouth to answer. As he does, however, he glances over Yuri’s shoulder just in time to see a horde rushing from behind him. The demon in the front nocks a burning arrow in the bow he wields, aiming directly for Yuri’s back. O’tabekkurrh hisses at the cowardice, shoving Yuri behind himself and conjuring his shield before them. The arrow bounces harmlessly off a moment later. O’tabekkurrh glances over his shoulder to his husband._

_Yuri is...smiling. Unworried, unbothered, as though he does not currently stand in the middle of a battlefield as one of the Empress’ traitor children sends his personal army of demons to tear them all apart. His husband reaches a slim hand up, stroking it lovingly down O’tabekkurrh’s cheek._

_“They’re nothing.”_

_Otabek would die for him._

_He is not ready for either of them to die just yet. He shrieks, his cacophonous voice gathering high above them, settling into the very atoms of the gathered clouds. From deep within, lightning bolts gather and coalesce, raining down upon the field with a vengeance. They strike each of their enemies deftly, disintegrating them where they stand._

_Around them, the hills grow silent. O’tabekkurrh stares at his husband. His brilliant, beautiful warrior. They’ll need to leave soon, to check in with their neighboring brothers and sisters, to help protect the rest of the lands in his Empress’ vast kingdom. But for now, he spends a moment with his beloved._

The vision fades in much the same way as the others. Yuri stares at the side of Otabek’s face intensely; he can feel the heat of his gaze.

“Is that real?”

Otabek turns to look at him. “How do you mean?”

“Does that happen?”

“Perhaps.”

“What does that even _mean_?”

“It is set to happen. But that does not mean it will. Should you choose to reject this destiny, then it will not happen, of course.”

“But if I say yes—”

“Then we battle together.”

“Is that really what you look like?”

“It is.”

“Can—can I see?”

Otabek fully faces him, then. He appraises him carefully, looking for any sign of apprehension. He can find none, however. “Are you certain?”

Yuri smirks at him, a sly little thing that just barely quirks his lips. It shoots right through Otabek like one of the bolts of lightning he is destined to rain down upon their enemies. “You think I can’t handle you?” he asks cheekily.

Otabek reaches out carefully, telegraphing his movements so as not to scare Yuri away. He wants his intentions known, he wants Yuri to agree to every bit of this. When he doesn’t flinch away, Otabek sets his human hand against his cheek, sliding his fingers along the delicate line of his jaw. “I daresay there is nothing you cannot handle.”

He cannot reveal himself just yet, however, as another vision slides in.

_A war again, but further in the future. Many battles have been waged between the one that protected their own lands and this final clash. Here, in the Empress’s very own palace courtyard, a sentence must be carried out. The perpetrator of the uprising — the ancient Vi’ktorrh, bringer of discord — is trapped in the center of the square. O’tabekkurrh and his siblings advance upon him, their forces at their backs. Vi’ktorrh stands tall and proud before them, unashamed of his deeds. His head is held high with the haughty conviction of a creature wronged. He has long since proven himself beyond salvation._

_“Vi’ktorrh, bringer of discord, elemental of confusion, he of untamed claws and sharpest nails,” the Empress rumbles from her balcony above the gathering. “You have wronged your Empress, your family, your very kind. You are unrepentant before my gaze.”_

_“You took him from me!” Vi’ktorrh roars. “You are the unrepentant one!”_

_“And so it must be,” she laments quietly, waving a hand before herself. They know what this means. O’tabekkurrh steps forward, in lockstep with his brethren. Each wrong must be made right, delicate balance maintained. This is an unchanging law, no matter the realm._

_Assorted tentacles, claws, pincers, and arms raise, poised to deliver a final blow to Vi’ktorrh and his ever shrinking force of demons. Suddenly, the eldritch screams, a pained and betrayed sort of screech. His demons lash out in one final, desperate attempt at freedom. Bolts of energy and fire throw off in every direction, striking multiple targets at once._

_Another scream rings out, only this time, it comes from behind where O’tabekkurrh is poised. One of his shoulders hurts. It burns in an unfamiliar way._

_“Beka!”_

_Yuri’s voice. O’tabekkurrh’s most private name spoken by the only set of lips given permission to wield it._

_“Beka,_ no _!” Again with the name. Would he could, O’tabekkurrh would surely blush. Rather, he looks back to the source of his husband’s voice. Yuri’s face is pale and ashen, his eyes staring unblinking down at Otabek’s side. The eldritch follows the line of gaze until his sight joins that of his husband’s._

Ah.

_It would seem he is now in possession of one less tentacle than he had previously been._

_That is most unfortunate._

_Yuri steps forward, settling a gentle hand atop O’tabekkurrh’s gaping wound, eyes narrowing in disgust. It’s a determination that O’tabekkurrh has not seen in some time, and yet, it is as familiar as an old friend. Someone is in trouble, and for once, it isn’t him. He’s tempted to laugh at that._

_Instead, he watches in awe as Yuri draws himself to his full height, wielding the broadsword O’tabekkurrh had presented him on their bonding day. It glows with his innate power, singing with deadly intent. Yuri zeroes in on the source of the bolt that stole a beloved appendage from him. Yuri zeroes in on Vi’ktorrh himself._

_“You hurt my husband, you preening, whining, piece of shit!”_

_Vi’ktorrh takes a beat to look pleased with himself before his face falls in realization of Yuri’s intent. With his surrounding demons busy targeting the rest of the gathered forces, he is left open and vulnerable to Yuri’s vengeance. The man charges forward, hair gleaming in the red light of the triplet suns risen overhead._

_Just as quickly as he was there, Yuri is gone, skidding to a halt on the other side of the courtyard. His head is bowed, his sword hand outstretched from his heaving body. Vi’ktorrh is still in the center of the courtyard. Slowly, Yuri stands tall, shaking acidic blood from his blade. The yard is quiet and still._

_A slight breeze blows just as Yuri looks back over his shoulder._

_Vi’ktorrh’s head slides to the ground from atop his shoulders._

_Otabek stumbles across the courtyard and falls at his glorious, powerful, beautiful husband’s feet._

The scene fades away and Yuri looks to Otabek with a haughty smile.

“Well, now you owe me.”

And it’s true. If this truly does come to pass, Otabek will owe him this and so much more. He takes a deep breath, calming his sudden nervousness, and concentrates. The edges of his vision shimmer and burst as they always do when he drops his glamour.

His human skin slips away into nothing as he steps forward, shaking his true form loose. Before him, now much smaller, Yuri stands, gaping up at his body. Tentatively, he steps forward, arm outstretched in question. Unable to find any appropriate words, O’tabekkurrh simply nods his approval.

Yuri draws up close to his body and smiles gently. “You’re beautiful.”

He sets a delicate hand against O’tabekkurrh’s dominant tentacle and gasps at the spark that zings through them both, sealing their fate.

_“Do you think we should have children?” O’tabekkurrh asks quietly, running loving dactyli across his husband’s naked back. Yuri snorts and looks up at him from where his head is pillowed softly on his chest._

_“As much as I’m sure that would go super well for us, have you forgotten how biology works?”_

_“Mmm, details.”_

_“Really fuckin’ big ones, if you ask me,” Yuri laughs._

_“I suppose. But the question remains.”_

_Yuri sits up, shuffling around in the sheets until he’s positioned cross-legged, staring down at O’tabekkurrh. The silk blankets pool around his waist, emerald and gleaming in the light of their fireplace. O’tabekkurrh reaches out for him once more, continuing to run wandering tentacles across his bare skin._

_“Beka,” he says wondrously. “Do you want kids?”_

_O’tabekkurrh pauses in his ministrations._

_“It is...something I have considered.”_

_Yuri leans forward, a teasing sparkle in his eyes as he touches his nose to O’tabekkurrh’s cheek._

_“And how often have you considered it?” he whispers into O’tabekkurrh’s cochlear slit. His tone sends a shiver slithering across O’tabekkurrh’s scales._

_“Fairly often,” he murmurs, turning his head to catch his husband in a heated kiss. Yuri smiles into it and pulls away._

_“We’d have cute kids,” he says thoughtfully._

_“I agree,” O’tabekkurrh agrees. And they would. He can just imagine it now, the combination of Yuri’s smooth and creamy skin and silken golden hair with O’tabekkurrh’s...everything else._

_“How would it work, though? Like I said, biology.”_

_“And like I said, details. I am perfectly capable of carrying a pup.”_

_Yuri’s eyes widen, a jaw-splitting grin stretching across his face._

_“Honey,” he croons, leaning over O’tabekkurrh’s body. “You wanna have my babies?”_

It’s totally silent when they come back from the vision. The apartment is still around them, dust motes not even daring to stir in the air.

“Did—did we just watch our own foreplay?!” Yuri screeches.

“Yes, it would appear we did.”

Yuri looks at Otabek appraisingly. He pauses for a moment, gears visibly turning in his head as he considers what they’ve just seen.

“There’s no way that happens,” he eventually declares. It startles Otabek. Visibly so, judging by the look Yuri shoots him. “I mean,” Yuri clarifies, “that if we’ve already seen this, then there’s no reason for that conversation to have happened, right?”

“Ah,” Otabek realizes. “Yes, that would make sense.”

“So, suffice it to say, one day we decide to have kids and then we _do it._ ” He waggles his eyebrows and prods Otabek in the side with a bony elbow.

“Oh, for the love of the Empress,” Otabek sighs.

_O’tabekkurrh laughs loud and raucous as he gazes fondly upon the scene before him. Yuri — his beautiful, brilliant, perfect mate — smiles wide and free as he chases their kit across the yard._

_It was a long road to get here, many years of slow growth and literal hellfire indigestion, but after 50 years of gestation, their daughter was born on a jet black, silent night beneath the stars. The birth was quick, barely affording O’tabekkurrh time to retreat to the ceremonial birthing ponds, and definitely not enough time for the birthing aides to arrive, but all was well once they saw their child emerge into the world, bright and shining._

_She is two decades of age now, barely knee-high to a nightcrawler, but each day she grows larger and stronger. Her wings have begun to sprout, beautiful purple appendages set off nicely by the acid green of her fangs. She will be powerful, to be sure._

_She giggles and dodges as Yuri swipes an arm out to scoop her up, but she’s just this side of too slow, and he manages to snatch her, wriggling and snorting, up into his chest. They laugh together, falling to the ground to roll around in the fresh, lemon yellow grass. O’tabekkurrh smiles, hearts warming in his chest as he approaches his little family, ready to join them in their games._

The vision fades, and with it, Otabek can sense the end of their link. The air around them hangs heavy, charged with the final picture of the future they could have together. How much of it bled out to the witch, Otabek is unsure.

Yuri stares up at him, unblinking, as several emotions slide across his face in quick succession. Otabek feels much the same way, although his true face allows him to shield his thoughts better than most other forms. This is fortunate, he thinks, as the only person he wishes to truly understand the nuances of his true face is standing before him.

Mila is gaping at them, but they only have eyes for each other as Yuri speaks.

“I’m going with him.”


	4. it's a dead man's party

“Of course you fucking are,” Mila sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She stands from the couch, settles her hands on her hips, and starts pacing. “You realize if you cross realms, you’ll be gone for good, right?”

Yuri snaps his head up and in her direction.

“Oh, you didn’t consider that, did you?” she asks with a wry twist to her lips. Her eyes drop. “You’d be leaving me, Yura.”

Her words sink like stones in his gut. He rushes forward, hands outstretched to cup her face gently. “Mila, no. No, I won’t. I would never leave you like that.”

Otabek clears his throat behind them.

“I am sorry to tell you, but you would. You cannot cross into the eldritch realm as a mortal.”

“What?”

“You cannot be tied to another realm to enter mine. You must awaken your true being and join me as I am. As a son of the Empress.”

Yuri screws his face up in confusion. That can’t possibly mean what he thinks. There’s no way.

Mila sighs. “You have to die, Yura.”

The air grows cold around him with the realization he was afraid of. Die? He’s not ready for that. He still needs to graduate. He needs to visit his grandfather and show him the diploma he’s worked so hard for. He needs to visit his mother’s grave one more time as a full adult, her pride and joy achieving the dream she had for him. He can’t just _leave_ like that. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. He—

“Yura,” Mila says gently, swapping places to take his face in her own hands. “Breathe. If this is really what you want, we’ll figure it out. We always do, right?”

Her smile wobbles as she does her best to reassure him, but it still helps. Through thick and thin, she’s always done everything possible to ensure his happiness, just as he’s done for her. He often finds himself woefully underskilled for the task, but he’s do anything for her. Still, this is a lot to ask. Talk about the understatement of the century, this is _impossible_ to ask. He can’t do this to her. What would she even do?

“I think I remember something I read in an old book of my mother’s once. It was the coven Mistress’s, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my hands on it, but it’s worth a shot.” She drops on of her hands to Yuri’s shoulder, squeezing him lovingly. “Don’t worry, Yura. I’m not ready to stop bothering you just yet. I’ll see what I can find out. Sarah owes me a favor, anyway.”

Sarah is a question he’s afraid to ask, sometimes. But just hearing that Mila is willing to contact her ex just to help him connect with his ancient eldritch god soulmate is warming. That thought gives Yuri pause. There’s something personally revealing about learning you have an otherworldly soulmate with tentacles and claws and being terribly into it. Perhaps it’s a previously undiscovered kink, but that thought isn’t something Yuri is altogether ready to ponder.

“In the meantime,” Mila continues, wandering to collect her things from the entry table, “you two just...I dunno. Get to know each other or some shit. You can’t wander on over to his kingdom—”

“Realm,” Otabek corrects.

“Whatever. You can’t just go there without at least knowing a little something about the guy. Err, monster. Whatever you are.”

Otabek chuckles, but doesn’t correct her.

“Right,” she says, hand poised over the doorknob. “I’m gonna go find out what I can, and when I have answers, _you_ —” she points imperiously at Yuri— “are going to tell _me_ everything. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright then,” she smiles and throws the door open. “See you soon, sweetheart!”

And with that, she’s gone. The apartment goes quiet without her boundless energy there to brighten it. Only now, it’s not an oppressive silence. Rather, it’s more like a friend. Otabek is here, taking up space in a previously empty part of Yuri’s head and heart, and he’s content to just stand still with him. Otabek shifts on his feet, human glamour firmly back in place.

Okay, perhaps not _stand_ still.

Yuri wanders over to the couch and throws himself facedown into the plush cushions. Otabek shifts on his feet again, Yuri cna hear the slightly scratchy rustle of the polyester carpet fibers beneath his boots. He raises a hand without looking, waving him over to the couch.

“Don’t just stand there, dude. Get the fuck over here.”

Faster than Yuri can explain, he feels his feet being lifted from the couch, Otabek slipping in beneath and resting them down on his lap. Firm hands rub gently over his calves, working the muscles in soothing circles. Yuri groans his approval and sinks further into the cushions. Otabek’s hands are sure and confident, soothing and grounding in a way Yuri’s nerves desperately need right now.

“Hey.”

“Yes, Yuri?”

“How many calves are you out there rubbing?”

Otabek’s hands still.

“What?” His voice is slightly strangled, choking around the question.

“I’m just saying,” Yuri answers, turning his head so he can face the room proper, “your calf massage skills are pretty top notch, right? So, again, whose calves are you cheating on me with? Whose calves are you cheating on your _soul calves_ with?”

Otabek scrambles frantically to the floor, shuffling forward on hands and knees toward Yuri’s face.

“Yuri. I would never—I could never—There would never be—”

Finally, Yuri can’t take it anymore and snorts a laugh directly in the poor man’s face. He shoves him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m kidding. Relax.”

Otabek stills for a moment, but then breaks into the most brilliant smile Yuri has ever seen. It’s beautiful, the expression on his face, and if Yuri wasn’t already aware of just how attractive he finds the guy, he would be well and truly fucked. Fortunately for all involved, he can keep himself under control.

“I do have a serious question, though,” he says, gesturing for Otabek to return to his previous spot under Yuri’s legs. When he takes his place, Yuri rolls over face up, propping his head on the arm of the couch. “What exactly happens when I go with you?”

“Well, Otabek begins slowly, “a fair few things.”

“Like?”

“Well, first I would need to show you my true self.”

“But I thought you already did?”

“Not exactly. We were in a vision, so the truth you saw wasn’t my physical form. It was an approximation, conjured up by what I’ve seen of myself. When I show you myself in entirety, you will know.”

Yuri breathes out a heavy sigh.

“You’ll feel it, Yuri.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Once I’ve shown you myself, our souls will bond, more or less.”

“Again, what does that mean?”

Otabek looks at him patiently. “As I told you, your soul was born from a piece of my own. So, our two pieces will rejoin in a sense. They will link to each other, I suppose you could say, in order for us to be fully connected.”

“I see.”

He doesn’t entirely see.

“Then, once the bond is restored, we travel to my realm for the traditional bonding ceremony.”

“So, what, do I gotta walk down some kind of demon monster aisle?”

“I’m not a demon. Monster is subjective, but I would prefer not to be referred to as such, truthfully.”

“Fair enough.”

“And no. We simply declare our intent to be wed, much like your mortal weddings, I imagine.”

Well, that’s a relief. Yuri knows for an absolute fact that there is no way he’s going to cram himself into some sort of crazy get up and walk down an aisle with a bouquet of actual snapdragons or some shit like that. He’d rather die. Well—

“I won’t die for you,” Yuri declares.

“I would never ask that of you.”

“And I won’t go with you unless I know I can come back.”

Otabek sighs. “At this point, I don’t see any way around that. Unless your guardian—”

“ _Not my guardian._ ”

“Unless your Mila can find something, there may not be a way around it.”

“She’s brilliant. She’ll find something.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Otabek says seriously. Yuri looks up at the intensity in his voice to find him already looking back, face dripping in fondness. Yuri can’t resist reaching a hand out for him. He returns the gesture instantly, settling their fingers together across Yuri’s stomach.

_Yuri and O’tabekkurrh stand quietly before a room full of their closest friends and companions. Several assorted eldritch gods and demon kings are scattered about the room, interspersed with smaller attendants, many of them the new friends Yuri has made along his travels into the outer realms._

_Their hands are linked together between them, fingers tangled with suction cups. A rogue pincer delicately clasps itself to Yuri’s wrist. He smiles at the involuntary grasp Otabek has on him._

_Behind Yuri stands Mila, looking as calm and composed as ever in her crimson crushed velvet suit. Several assorted higher demons as well as a rogue eldritch have already offered her riches and power beyond her wildest dreams if she would but join them as their bride. She was flattered by the eldritch queen, even if she had to turn her down. Sarah isn’t one for sharing, although she does delight in the jealousy having Mila tied down tends to rile up in others._

_Yuri smirks at the thought of whatever cursed bouquet Sarah will try to send the Queen._

_The leader of their service, the Empress herself, clears her throat beside them. She’s reduced her size as a special gift to O’tabekkurrh, in order to grace them for their ceremony in a more digestible appearance. The Empress smiles down at them benevolently (at least, Yuri thinks she does, it’s hard to tell past all the eyes and mouths) as she ties a length of silk around their hands._

_The ceremony is relatively short, no frills, and surprisingly boisterous. The crowd of attendees laugh and scream and moan and party around them as they take their ceremonial vows. The words themselves are surprisingly romantic, but privately shared since pretty much only Mila is listening. Yuri only says a few sentence, straight and to the point, but O’tabekkurrh._

_O’tabekkurrh takes his time in listing all the ways in which Yuri is his perfect match and favored friend. He speaks his dedication and fervent passion into the world as easy as you please. It strike Yuri to the core, standing before him, lashed together as they are._

Yuri gasps his way out of the vision when it finishes, and without warning, leaps across the couch for Otabek. He’s ready, though, arms outstretched to tug him in and meet him in a warm and passionate kiss.

 

+++

 

Three months remain until Otabek runs out of time.

“I think I have something,” Mila says into the phone one morning. Her ringtone had awoken Yuri from a deep and peaceful sleep, curled up into Otabek’s side after a long week of exams. She shoots for nonchalance, but her excitement practically radiates from the earpiece. “It’s old, old magick, but I think it’ll do the trick.”

She’s been much more approving of this venture now that they’ve all had time to get to know each other and settle into a comfortable relationship full of playful ribbing and genuine concern. Mila and Otabek are very much like siblings, if Yuri were to compare. They make fun of each other, look out for each other, and understand each other on a level not many people achieve. Most of all, they both care deeply for Yuri in their own ways. He can rely on them both for different needs, and he’s never felt so lucky.

Explaining his whole ordeal to her had been a tough time for them.

_“So, you’ve seen things?” Mila asks, swirling her tea in its steaming cup. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”_

_“It wasn’t like that, Mila, and you know it,” Yuri shoots back. “Of course I thought of telling you, you were the first thing I thought of when it all started. But even I know that seeing things like that wasn’t exactly the best sign. I legitimately thought I was losing my mind. I had to figure out what was happening to me.”_

_She ponders that for a moment. It doesn’t take long before she nods resolutely. “That makes sense. Tell me about them.”_

_“It started with eyes. Glowing red eyes all around me. They didn’t blink, and they didn’t have pupils, but I_ knew _what they were, you know? I could feel them watching me.”_

_“Unseen forces tracking your movements. Something from beyond searching.”_

_“Oh, is that all it meant? Well, phew,” he answers, dramatically wiping his brow._

_Mila laughs and shoves him in the shoulder. “Shut up. Keep talking.”_

_He quirks an eyebrow and she laughs, gesturing him to go on._

_“So after a while, they changed.”_

_“How?”_

_“They got more defined. Stronger, kind of? And I could hear them.”_

_“Ah, this must have been Otabek getting closer, yeah?”_

_“I think so.”_

_“Well, what did you see?”_

_“His tentacles. His pincers. I think his teeth?”_

_“Pin—pincers?” Her voice is strangled on the question, and yeah. That’s fair. She’s done remarkably well up to this point, hearing all about O’tabekkurrh, he of undying sight, etcetera, etcetera. Most people would draw the line well before crab claws._

_“Mmhmm,” he confirms brightly, forming crab claws with his hands and casually clapping them._

_“Pincers. Fantastic. Yuri, how’s he gonna—” she drops her eyes to his pants._

_“Nope! No,” he scolds. “We’re not doing that.”_

_He drops her eyelids and cooes at him from across the table. “Yuuurrriiiii, how are you gonna get a demon han—”_

_“Not a demon!” he cuts her off. “And no!”_

_She laughs loud and bright, draining her teacup and setting it back on the table with a clack, giving it one final swirl before glancing down at her tea leaves and humming. “So what did you hear?”_

_“Voices. Well, one voice, but it was a bunch of voices at once. His real voice.”_

_“How’s it sound?”_

_“Kind of like you would think a praying mantis would sound if it could talk? No discernible language, all raspy and deep.”_

_“That sounds terrifying.”_

_“Mildly. It’s pretty hot, honestly.”_

_“I think that’s a kink.”_

_“Probably.”_

_“So is that everything? It doesn’t make sense that you’d be losing sleep over this like you were.”_

_And, that’s the rub, isn’t it? That wasn’t it at all. And he knows, he_ knows _, that when he tells her this, she’s going to flip her absolute shit. He won’t blame her. It’s what he’d do. But now that he’s on the other side of it, he would rather protect Otabek from her wrath._

_“I, uh. I saw him.”_

_“Yeah, you just said that,” she answers flatly._

_“No, I mean, I_ saw _him. Following me.”_

_“What?”_

_“Nothing crazy, I swear! Just like, in the library, or at school, or in...my bedroom...at...night…”_

_“_ What?! 

_“You promised you would listen.”_

_“Yeah, but I didn’t promise I wouldn’t kill your boyfriend!”_

_“It was when he first found me. He didn’t know how to approach, and he didn’t know I could see him, so he just kind of...stuck around? Trying to figure out how to talk to me?”_

_Mila pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs heavily. “Yuri. As much as we all_ love _a romantic bit of stalking, that was seriously not okay! He could have hurt you!”_

_“He would never,” Yuri declares, as sure as he’s ever been. “And we’ve already talked about it. He knows he messed up.”_

_“He’s an eldritch god of endless power, how does he even_ have _morality,” she mutters more to herself than anything._

_“He just does.” Yuri shrugs. “We’re past it.”_

_“Past it,” she scoffs._

It was almost humorous, to Yuri anyway, how quickly Mila got past it, too. Otabek is nothing if not charming, in an otherworldly, ethereal, doesn’t-understand-the-need-for-computers sort of way. He was hard for her to resist. Especially not when he offered to help her refine her power.

“So, yeah,” she continues. “I don’t know if I have what it takes to do this, and pretty much nobody uses this kind of casting anymore, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Otabek notices Yuri’s shift in mood and sits up, dragging Yuri upright with him. He drops a kiss to Yuri’s head and shuffles out of bed, presumably to go make coffee. He’s gotten very good at it in the past months.

“Is this why you’ve been gone for a few weeks?” Yuri asks.

“Yeah. And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you why. I just had to be sure.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Remember how I said the book belonged to my mother’s coven Mistress?”

“I do.”

“I had to go see her.”

“Where, in goddamn Zanzibar or some shit?”

She laughs. “Very nearly. The point is, I had to do some traveling and a couple favors to get it. But the book is mine now. She gave me her real contact information to keep, though. She wants to help me study. She said I have _potential_.” Yuri can practically hear her fingers wiggling with the word.

Otabek shuffles sleepily back into the room, offering Yuri a steaming mug just how he likes it: black as sin and strong as an ox. He presses a kiss to the crown of Yuri’s head and heads into the bathroom. Yuri waits until the water starts running.

“So what do we have to do?”

Mila sighs.

 

+++

 

“I don’t think I can do that, Yura,” Otabek says. His voice is very nearly a whine, although only Yuri can tell the difference.

“If you want him in your realm, you will,” Mila shoots back. “I won’t let him go any other way.”

“You said yourself that you were unsure if this would properly work.”

“Maybe I did, but I damn sure know how it’ll go if we do it the classic way.”

“Yes, he will survive the process with certainty.”

“Otabek,” she argues. “I’ve trusted you with a lot here, haven’t I?”

Otabek nods slowly. Yuri can tell he knows where this is going and he doesn’t like it, but he won’t argue. Yet.

“Then don’t you think you owe me just a _smidge_ —” she pinches her index finger and thumb together— “of that same trust? Hmm?”

“There’s a difference in asking to believe we have a soul bond and asking me to murder my spark.”

“You won’t be murdering him,” Mila equivocates. “You’ll just be...resetting him. Like a computer! Turn it off and turn it right back on, only in DOS, so you can play Oregon Trail. He’ll have died, so the death will count, but then he’ll be alive again slightly different, so he can straddle both worlds. Beep boop, your husband is back!”

“He is _not_ a machine!”

“He is also standing _right here_!” Yuri interrupts. “And not to be that guy, but I feel like if it’s my mortality, I should get the last say.”

He shoots a pointed look at Otabek and he recoils.

“Yura, please. Please, I cannot take your life. I can’t be the one—you can’t ask me to—”

“Hey.” Yuri steps forward and takes Otabek’s face in his hands. “Breathe. Relax, okay?”

Mila sits down in Otabek’s armchair. It’s an overstuffed, cushy sort of thing. She and Yuri often fight over it. She crosses her arms over her chest and watches them silently, assessing. What she’s assessing is a little beyond him, though.

“Look,” he continues, sliding his hands down to grasp Otabek’s. “I know this is a big ask, but you said it yourself, I have to become like you to stay with you anyway. And really, there’s nobody I would trust more with this than you, you know? I know you’ll make it quick.”

Otabek squeezes his hands back. “But what if we fail? I just got you.”

“I know you did,” Yuri answers with as much reassurance in his voice as he can. He leans forward, settling their foreheads together. “But we’ll never know unless we try. And I _want_ to try, Beka. I’m not finished here on Earth and time is running out for you.”

“I am afraid.”

“Oh, baby, of course you are. I’m literally asking you to murder me.”

Mila snorts from her seat. “Smooth,” she whispers under her breath, and Otabek smiles at that.

“But,” Yuri continues unaffected. “I also know that I’m not ready to let you go. So this is where we are now.”

Otabek’s eyes slide closed and he breathes in deep. He releases the breath, reopening his eyes with determination. He turns to Mila with a fresh fire in his eyes.

“What must we do?”

She smiles.

“You gotta kill him, baby boy.”

Otabek rolls his eyes, actually rolls them. Yuri’s brain trips and stumbles all over itself, spilling its contents all over the place. “We’ve established this. I assume there are other steps involved in the process.”

“Steps? Sweetheart, there’s a whole damn skyscraper’s worth of staircases.”

“Then I suppose we should begin climbing.”

They both turn to face Yuri. Mila steps forward and spins him around, brushing her fingers through his hair. She begins to braid, and as she does so, she explains. “Do you remember how the two of you end up tied to each other once you show him your true form? It’s time for that to happen.”

“Why?” Yuri asks, wincing as she tightens the braid.

“Because for this to work, your soul needs a tether. And what better tether than your actual ancient eldritch monster husband boyfriend?”

It...makes sense, actually. When a person dies, their soul is released from their form, sent to float into whatever abyss it’s destined for. So it would stand to reason that if that soul were tethered to something, it’d be easier to stuff that sucker back inside whatever candy-coated shell it escaped from.

“After that,” she continues, looking back to Otabek, “you gotta kill this nerd.”

“Hey!”

She tugs Yuri’s braid at his outburst.

“Once he’s dead, that’s when I swoop in and save the entire day and your relationship, and you’ll owe me your firstborn, which we already know you’ll have so yay! Everyone is happy!”

“I will not give you my child,” Otabek answers.

“It was worth a shot,” Mila shrugs and turns to Yuri. “Anyway! You ready for death, my sweetest peach?”

“You know, you’re being awfully cavalier about all this,” he answers.

“Listen,” she says. She leans closer, so that their faces are mere inches apart. “I’m one wrong move from coming apart at the seams, Yura. Every minute of thinking about this has made me wanna sit down with a tub of ice cream and cry. But I love you. And you want this. I want to give you this. I want you to be happy.”

Yuri feels the telltale lip wobble that signals impending tears and curses his soft, emotional core. He lurches forward and gathers Mila up in a crushing hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Yuri.” She pushes him back to arm’s length and smoothes his hair. “Now. Go get your ass murdered.”

“Uh.”

She loud laughs at herself. “You know what I mean.”

Yuri smiles at her once more and spins to face Otabek. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he says, reaching out for Yuri. He goes easily into the warm circle of his arms and allows himself to be led to the bedroom. The door clicks quietly closed behind them, but in the silent apartment, the noise rings out like a gunshot. Otabek turns to Yuri and regards him seriously for a moment. This is it. His decision made, his affairs in order just in case. Yuri thinks back on the past few months of his life. He thinks back on the fact that, realistically, he and Otabek barely know each other.

And yet.

And yet, it feels like they’ve known each other for more than a lifetime. Like they’ve known each other for _several._ And it’s a wild feeling, really. To know that, somehow, the universe was looking out for him from a day long before he was even born. To know that, should this go well, he’ll be getting up shortly after his death and heading out to marry his actual god of a soulmate and live out the rest of his days as an ageless, endless being.

He hopes he doesn’t shit himself.

That would be so embarrassing.

Otabek begins to strip himself of his clothing, and Yuri raises an eyebrow at him. “Baby,” he purrs. “Right now?”

Otabek’s face flushes bright red and he throws his pants at Yuri’s face. “Don’t do that. We’re being serious right now. Take your clothes off, please.”

Yuri throws a scandalized hand over his chest. “ _Beka._ Mila is outside!”

“And she’d kill you herself if she saw how you were acting right now.” Otabek’s tone is sharp. He’s not angry, Yuri can tell. He scared. _Terrified._

“Honey,” Yuri whispers, stepping toward him. “Hey.” He settles a hand against Otabek’s bare chest. “Remember why we’re doing this. Remember that I trust you. We’ll be fine,” he reassures.

Otabek breathes out a long sigh, settling his on hand on top of Yuri’s. “We’ll be fine.”

“You’re gonna _kill_ it,” Yuri declares.

“Dammit, Yura. Get naked.”

Yuri cackles for effect and follows orders. He strips himself bare, pushing stray hairs that wormed free of his braid back behind his ears. Once he’s done, he looks up to find Otabek already there. His mouth runs dry. They’ve seen each other like this plenty of times by now, but there’s something new in Otabek’s countenance. Something that speaks to his age and knowledge. That aura rolls off him in waves, a deep flavor that draws Yuri in like a dog to a bone. He looks on quietly as Otabek straightens himself to his full height.

“Yura. Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Beka. O’tabekkurrh.”

Otabek’s eyelids slide closed at the sound of his true name.

“Are you ready to return?”

“More than anything,” Yuri answers.

The floor rumbles beneath their feet. The walls shake, unseen dust rains down on them from the ceiling above. Animal sounds fill the room, rising in a cacophonous rhythm. The sound fills his head to bursting, but still, it isn’t enough to distract him from what’s occurring right in front of his eyes.

Otabek’s human skin shreds itself to pieces, disintegrating into thin air, never to be seen again. From within steps forth a beast the likes of which Yuri has never seen before. His mind can barely comprehend the shape of it, the enormity of it, the oppressive _otherworldliness_ of it. It’s all fangs and claws, wriggling appendages and wings. It hums low, slowly at first, but rapidly intensifying, peaking into a scream that fills his very being.

It ramps higher and higher until Yuri realizes that it’s not just O’tabekkurrh, it’s him as well. His body is practically _singing_ beneath the weight of this creature before him. His chest bursts into fervent warmth and light, flowers bursting and blooming along his skin, his blood becoming precious gems, emeralds and rubies flowing through his veins. His heart is cut crystal, threatening to shatter beneath the resonance of their twin souls, reaching and grasping for each other.

O’tabekkurrh pushes forward through the room, tangled tentacles wriggling and writhing, all reaching out to take Yuri in their grasp, to fold him in and keep him where belongs, consumed, consuming, giving, taking, breathing, breathing, breathing, breath—

Yuri’s world goes black and still.

 

+++

 

When Yuri awakens, it’s to O’tabekkurrh’s true form anxiously peering down at him, Mila’s face right next to his.

He itches. He’s so itchy. His skin feels like it’s full of bugs, scuttling and scraping, searching for a means of escape. Absently, his hands scrabble along his body, clawing for relief.

 _Do not._ Yuri snaps his head to attention. O’tabekkurrh. _Hello, my love. It is very good to see you alive once more._

“What, uh. What the fuck?” Yuri gasps, his breath wretched and scratchy. His head is pounding. Mila is smirking again.

“What the fuck indeed, you fucking elemental spirit, you.”

Yuri sits up slowly, clutching at his forehead. “Mila, you know I love you, but you can’t just smash words together like that and expect me to understand.”

 _What she means, beloved,_ and again, O’tabekkurrh’s voice takes all of Yuri’s attention, _is that you are something special. A rare find, as it were._

Yuri quirks a brow at that.

_Look at yourself._

Yuri looks down at his arms and gasps. All along his skin, dark, shimmering veins run across the surface like lightning. They pulse and move, striking just the same as bolts crossing the sky. He lifts his hands in front of his face, turning them this way and that, flexing his fingers.

“It would seem we awoke some shit you didn’t even know you had, Yura.”

 _You are something new now,_ Otabek confirms. _In those visions, where you were dangerous and sharp, do you remember? This was you. Powerful and wild, yes, but still you._

“You gotta take a peep, though, Yura. You look scary as hell.”

So he does. He allows Mila to lead him to the bathroom, where he recoils at his own reflection. It’s him. But not. He’s bigger this way. Broader and more muscular. But he’s still _him._ He can see it in the set of his eyes and the upturn at the corners of his mouth. His hair is even longer now, something he’s not sure how to feel about.

“I love the horsetail, personally,” Mila throws out. “You look very refined. Like one of those Norwegian models that piss everyone off, all perfect and cut with that hair, you know?” She wraps her arms around his waist from behind. “You’re gorgeous, Yura. And you reek.”

She steps back with a laugh.

“Reek?” Yuri sniffs at himself, but smells nothing.

_You smell of elemental power. Earthy. A hint of ice._

O’tabekkurrh is there again, propped against the doorway with a peaceful smile stretched across his mouth. It’s obscured by facial tentacles, but Yuri can read it all the same. He smiles back.

“Now that _that_ whole business is over, you two crazy kids ready to go get married?” Yuri and O’tabekkurrh look at each other with twin grins. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, fondly rolling her eyes. “Let’s go, then! I’m super excited to see this eldritch realm of yours.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “You’re coming?”

“Uh, hello? Badass with that literally raised you from the dead so you could get hitched and still visit home? I’d like to see anyone stop me.”

_She does have a point, Yura._

 

+++

 

The light in the eldritch realm is strange. Having three suns means there’s more of it, for a start. But also, it’s red. Blood red. The sort of red they warn sailors about. It’s nearly palpable in its thickness, permeating everything it touches. There isn’t a blackout curtain at Bed Bath & Beyond that could restrain it. It’s impressive, really.

What’s not impressive is waking up the morning after his wedding to that very light pounding thickly into his hungover skull. That’s not accurate. It’s not the red light of a stormbringing sky doing it, it’s actual pounding. Heavy pounding. On their chamber door. At who-even-knows o’clock on the first day of his honeymoon. Grumbling to himself, Yuri tugs the silken sheets of their marriage bed clean up to his nose and rolls over, away from the source of the sound.

O’tabekkurrh chuckles from beside him and heaves himself out of bed. He drops a kiss, thick with viscous saliva, to Yuri’s shoulder and shuffles to open the door.

“Your highness,” a servant greets. “I am immeasurably sorry to intrude upon your most sacred of time like this.”

“Please, Minam’ith. I am certain you would not have come without reason.”

“Sire,” Minam’ith squeaks. “We have just received communication from Lord Leroie’y. A fallen child of the Empress — Vi’ktorrh. He means to stage an uprising.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> come beat me up on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts)!


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